Living in Fantasy
by TheShoelessOne
Summary: A drive-by shooting endangers Catherine's life. As she struggles to cling to consciousness in the hospital, Grissom is sent to investigate murder at the Excalibur. Is his mind elsewhere? GC. Chapter 2 up!
1. Chapter One

AN: Okay, so I posted an early version of this story a while back, if anyone remembers, but under a different title, and it had a different beginning. I personally like this one better, and I hope everyone else does. It wasn't so well-recieved earlier. I know at least one person who will appriciate it... Oh, and also, this story takes place before the team is split, but Greg is still in training. Soo... Happy reading!

**Chapter One**

Night over Las Vegas, the strip alight with energy and activity. This is the city that not only doesn't sleep, but avoids it regularly. Rain was a rare thing in this desert-fringed city. The conditions had to be perfect. There had to be just enough cloud cover, the atmosphere at the ideal temperature with the perfect amount of humidity. That night was one of those magical nights when all of the factors clicked. Electricity crackled in the heavy air, and the first drop of rain plummeted to the parched earth below and evaporated almost immediately. But then its brothers poured down upon the desert, and it began to rain.

Women pulled their children into their homes. Windshield wipers were put into effect, their use in the desert town finally acknowledged. Headlights were switched on, and the reflections shone brightly off of the now slick roads. Shoes and tires gripped their tightest to the water-logged highways and sidewalks. Those who were not huddled inside stood in the path of the droplets and relished in the refreshing drink that was given to Las Vegas.

Catherine Willows activated her headlights. She glanced apprehensively at the merging SUV on her right, and she instinctively pressed harder on the gas pedal. Lindsey was already angry with her. Now she was late to pick her up at Rachel's. Catherine closed her eyes for a disconcerting moment, then turned on her blinker and pulled onto the exit ramp.

She vividly remembered the fight they'd had last night. Lindsey had wanted her nose pierced. Catherine would have nothing to do with it. Wincing, she remembered her exact words. "I won't have my own daughter going around school looking like a harlot!" Then Lindsay had thrown back a stinging retort before slamming the car door shut.

"You don't have any room to talk, Mom!" Her eyes burned with a last flare of passion, the car door snapped shut, and Lindsey dashed down the walk and into Rachel's house. Catherine pursed her lips bitterly. It would take all her strength to drag her daughter back home after that. Maybe then she could sit Lindsey down and have a woman-to-woman talk. Her eyes flicked to her rear-view mirror for only a moment, then did a double take.

A white car was following her closely. The driving current of rainwater over her back window obscured the driver and the plate, so she returned her eyes to the road. Rachel's house was only three blocks away. The white car revved its engine and bumped its nose against the rear bumper of Catherine's car. The horn blasted angrily. Catherine sighed in exasperation and watched as the white car pulled around her to pass.

She had to dare a look at the driver as its face passed her window.

The only image that met her eyes was the barrel of a gun.

An explosion of glass rained down around her, slicing her skin. Fire ripped through her shoulder. Another scream of a bullet crashing into the side of her car. Another burst her front tire. Only another white-hot burst of pain, then the dark of unconsciousness swallowed her. Rain dripped through the ruptured window, glass strewn everywhere. Blood dripped steadily onto the upholstered seat. The air bag, defeated, cradled the fragile body of Catherine Willows, the entire front end of her car dented inwards from the impact with the metal lamp post.

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"Gris! Hey, Gris!" Gil Grissom removed his glasses and looked up. Young Nick Stokes was running down the hallway at full speed, his ID tags flying every which way. Grissom furrowed his eyebrows and set his papers aside.

"Yes?" he asked, looking the younger man up and down. Something was wrong. He could see it in the way Nick's eyes glittered with fear. Nick slumped down to catch his breath when he reached Grissom's door, then glanced fearfully at his superior.

"It's Cath," he said breathlessly. Alarm rose in Grissom's chest, and he pushed himself up from his desk. He leant an arm to Nick, pulling the man back to his feet.

"What happened? Is she alright? And Lindsey?" Grissom asked rapid-fire questions, and Nick held up one hand as a sign of surrender.

"Lindsey is fine. But Catherine..." He ran one hand over the back of his neck, feeling the tiny hairs standing up on their own. Grissom's breath caught in his throat. "She's been in an accident, and according to the witnesses and the woman who called the ambulance, they think it was a drive-by." Grissom stared at him intensely, mulling the incredible information slowly, digesting it bit by bit. Nick could see every emotion run through Grissom's eyes before he finally asked:

"Where is she?" Grissom's jaw was set, his lips pulled thin over his teeth.

"Mountain View Hospital," the younger said quickly. "I was about to grab Sara and head over there when I saw that you were still here."

"Someone needs to do your paperwork," Grissom added with a humorless smile. Nick chose not to reflect it. "I can get out of here in five if-" A grating noise from his side pocket made the superior wince. Sadly, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Grissom," he spoke into the receiver with a stoic tone. He was silent for only a few moments when Nick saw the great change on his face. A sigh escaped his lips slowly, and a sadness swept over his features. "I'll... I'll be right over." As he ended his conversation and stuck the phone back into his pocket, Nick searched the older man's face.

"Gris, if you want, I can-"

"That was Brass," Grissom said quickly, walking back behind his desk and pulling his possessions from its innards. "We've got dead body at the Excalibur. He says he needs me."

"What if Cath needs you?" Nick insisted. Grissom stared steadily at the man, as if unsure of how to answer.

"Tell her that I'll come to see her as soon as I have the time. And tell her that's a promise." Grissom pocketed what he had pulled from his desk and walked out of his office. Nick cupped his hands over his mouth and called down the hallway after him.

"Sara and I are going to be called to look over Catherine's drive-by!"

"Then I wish you the best of luck!" was Grissom's answer as he walked down the hall and out the door. Nick watched the door shut and heard the sound of the metal lock latching from the outside. Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh, Nick dashed from the office and ran looking for Sara.

Grissom reached for his keys as he closed in on his black SUV. Just as he neared it, he found that his hands were trembling so hard that he dropped the keys from his fingers. Stopping abruptly, Grissom knelt to pick his keys off of the asphalt. As he reached down with his right, he saw how badly his hand was shaking. A shuddering intake of breath racked through his frame, and his hand gravitated to his mouth in a balled fist. He closed his eyes tight, and he dared not open his mouth, lest his emotions escape. Finally, his eyes reopened and he grabbed the fallen keys.

The vehicle roared to life beneath him, and he gripped the steering wheel harder than he usually would have, if only to stop the quivering of his hands.

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Warrick had his fingers in his ears.

The huge mechanical dragon was roaring not far away. He grimaced and took his eyes to the pallid body being fished from the water of the moat. He had long auburn hair, tied back behind his head in a soggy ponytail. Warrick shook his head. The kid looked like every geek, nerd and freak he had ever known in High School rolled up into one. He couldn't have been more than 20 years old. With a wet thud, the body landed on the drawbridge at Warrick's feet, the dead man's head lolling to one side. Warrick looked him over as he pulled out his camera.

There was a pristine, white bathrobe on the victim's body, tied tighter than one would usually prefer around the midsection. Warrick snapped a photo. There was discoloration in the corpse's face. Another picture. No defensive wounds on the hands opted another photo from Warrick. Then he noticed the ropes tied around the kid's ankles. Warrick's eyes followed the long span of rope, and at the end of each of them was a rather large rock. Another picture.

The scene was interrupted as Grissom's SUV pulled up to the Excalibur. The elder's eyes immediately focused on the dragon. His face contorted into a look of confusion and amusement at the same time. After contemplating the dragon shortly, Grissom strode to where Warrick knelt next to the body, taking pictures one after another.

"You rang?" Grissom asked, himself kneeling next to Warrick.

"Yeah," the younger said detachedly. "We got a call from two honeymooners trying to sneak in for a private swim in the moat." He made a small motion with his head toward two wet, frightened-looking people standing close to Captain Brass. "Brass is getting the info out of them as we speak. About our John Doe..."

"No ID?" Grissom asked, glancing from Brass to Warrick.

"None that I can find." He paused, then screwed his face into disbelief. "The guy's in a _bathrobe_, Gris. Where's he gonna keep it?"

"There are many places where you can store things in the human body," Grissom told the younger man cryptically. Warrick flipped the body over onto its stomach and photographed its posterior. There was a silence for only moments, but Grissom felt that it had been long enough to suddenly change the subject. "Did Nick tell you about Catherine?" Warrick's movements slowed and he nodded.

"Yeah, actually." He glanced at Grissom. "I'm surprised that you didn't go with him and Sara."

Grissom was silent, then pushed himself to his feet. There came no answer or rebuttal. Brass' form was suddenly hovering next to the two CSI's. Grissom nodded, and Warrick rose to his feet.

"You get anything out of them?" Warrick asked. Brass exhaled in an aggravated sigh.

"I hate newlyweds," he muttered under his breath. "Everything's all fun and games for the first week or so, then they can't stand each other." He stopped to caress his temples briefly. "The woman said that she wanted to have some 'fun' with her husband, and they decided that trying to swim naked in the moat was about as sexy and dangerous as they could dare. They get into the water and she feels this guy brush up against her foot." Brass nodded to the dead body. "They called us as soon as they got their clothes back on."

"Maybe that's why the Excalibur has so much appeal," Grissom offered. Brass' face was a mess of confusion. "It allows everyone to live their fantasies."

The dragon roared nearby.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Oh man..."

Grissom looked up and squinted until the form of Greg Saunders met his eyes. Greg was shaking his head with his mouth agape, staring at the body being loaded onto the gurney, ready for its journey to the morgue. Grissom raised a single eyebrow.

"What?" he asked. "You've seen worse." Greg looked at Grissom as if seeing him for the first time.

"No, it's not that..." He stared as the paramedics zipped the body bag closed over the corpse's face. "He just reminds me of someone from high school..." Warrick furrowed his brows. Did that mean Greg could ID the victim?

"Who?" Warrick asked. Greg looked away from the body bag, his face pale. Then, he forced a weak smile.

"Me," Greg said in a quiet voice. Despite Greg's pallid face, Warrick began to laugh.

"Wait a minute... You're telling me you were one of those nerds in high school? The ones who walked around with coke-bottle glasses and oily faces?" Warrick shook his head with laughter. Greg frowned.

"I'll have you know that there is a fine line between nerd and geek," he said with a regal air. "And I had a baby's skin,_ thank_ you very much."

"When did you get here, Greg?" Grissom asked. Greg gave him a strange look.

"I was following you the whole time, Gris," he answered. There was a break in the sound, and before anything became overly awkward, Greg sidled over to Warrick and peered over his shoulder at the evidence bag in his hands.

"I see that you have something for me."

"No," Warrick retorted, holding the bag out of Greg's grasp. "This is for Trace. That means: Keep your grubby geek paws off of it." Greg gave a heaving pseudo laugh.

"HAR har, Warrick." He circled the older man like a vulture. "But when I dig up something about your high school experience, we shall see how the tides shall turn." Warrick rolled his eyes. Grissom, despite himself, found all of this exchange amusing.

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Nick was trying his damnedest to see Catherine.

The intern he had spoken with had told him, "Ms. Willows is unable to receive visitors at this time." So he and Sara had run to see the doctor they had been directed to. He had assured them that, "We are doing everything in our power to assure Ms. Willows' safety and health, and therefore we cannot allow her the stress of visitors so soon after the accident." Nick was beginning to get very angry.

"Look here, Mr.-"

"Doctor," Sara reminded him quietly from his side.

"Dr. Rodriguez," Nick corrected himself, "we're from CSI! You can't deny us the chance to see our friend! I'm in the right mind to-"

"We believe that Catherine might have some valuable Trace evidence left over from the accident," Sara interjected again. Nick was left to hang in the air with his mouth wide open. "We're researching the possibility that this wasn't just a random drive-by but a planned attempt at murder. You'll have to let us see her as soon as possible, before valuable Trace evidence could be lost."

Dr. Rodriguez stared at the two young CSIs, and they could see conflicting messages intertwining themselves on his brow. At last, he sighed, and without a word, motioned for them to follow him. They passed down innumerable hallways, and were stuffed into a crowded elevator with a rather malodorous man. After what felt like miles on their poor feet, Dr. Rodriguez motioned them into a room which smelled of cleaning fluids and blood at the same time. It took all of Sara's strength not to throw her arms over the closest person and cry, and she was not prone to such things.

Catherine had never seen worse. The entry wound in her shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged. Equipment beeped and quivered all around her. Her face seemed as pale as the pillow she rested on, save for the enormous welts and cuts bulging from her skull. Some dried blood had failed to wipe clean from her mouth. Sara bit her bottom lip, but remained silent.

"She has two fractured ribs, along with the bullet wound. She has also broken her left arm, the same one that was shot. There is at least one fracture in her right leg, but extensive x-rays will be needed before we can tell for sure. She must be a very lucky woman to cheat death." Dr. Rodriguez recited the information like he was reading the back of a book. Just enough to catch your attention, but never everything that you were looking for. Nick shook his head, looking at the respirator tube shoved down Catherine's throat.

"Why'd this happen?" He asked himself, staring at the wreckage of a woman in front of him. Sara raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Isn't that what we're supposed to find out?" Sara's voice was egging him on. Nick gave her a sardonic smile. Neither of them ever thought that they would work on Catherine's case some day.

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"I have officially entered Hell," Greg Saunders said in horror. Warrick was grinning from ear to ear, glancing at Greg gleefully.

"Karma is a powerful thing, Greg. You don't want to anger the Gods, or something terrible could happen." Warrick glanced around the lobby of the Excalibur, as if tiny horns would sprout from his head at any moment. "And right now, the Gods are _pissed_."

The sign in front of them read "Dungeons & Dragons CON!" Greg ran a hand over his face in fatigue. If he could have been anywhere- the moon, a sewer, even Canada- this would have been his last choice. Maybe one step above Satan's throne room. Warrick pushed on Greg's shoulder.

"Oh, come on, Greggo, what's so bad Dungeons and Dragons? I mean, sure, some people have thrown themselves off buildings because their character died, or named themselves after a monster or something... But really, you got something against the game?" Warrick had never played it himself, but he'd had friends in his younger days that played. Of course, they never stayed friends for very long. Greg gave an agonizing look to Warrick.

"You don't understand..." Greg looked on the verge of tears. "I ... I used to play! In high school!" He covered his eyes with a hand, as if admitting that he worshiped Satan. Their conversation was interrupted by Grissom, who walked up between them and handed a photo of the victim to each of them.

"Go around to the convention goers and ask about our John Doe. I have a feeling that he might just be missed." Grissom's face was unusually gaunt and pale, but Greg tried to ignore it.

"Especially if he was a DM." Greg said without thinking. Grissom turned to him.

"A _what_?"

"A Dungeon Master," Greg muttered quickly, looking at his shoes. "They're the ones that run the games." Both Warrick and Grissom seemed utterly lost at these words. Greg sighed in exasperation. "A DM creates the world that the players adventure in, and he's their eyes to the world. He describes everything to them, even which way a blade of grass is bent. It's actually a really cool..." Greg trailed off absent-mindedly, not wanting to continue his sentence. Warrick shook his head.

"I don't get how they're supposed to see this made-up world just because one guy uses _two paragraphs_ to describe a blade of grass."

"That's because you need _imagination_, Warrick," Grissom said. Usually, this comment would have been followed by the trademark Grissom encouraging smile. But nothing came but pale lips that twitched every other second. Warrick growled and took Grissom by the shoulders.

"Gris, me and Greg can take this. You go see Catherine."

Grissom's lips thinned.

"Warrick," he nodded toward the convention goers. "You and Greg make your way through that mess and identify our vic, please."

"Where are_ you_ going?" Greg asked, looking from one man to the other. Grissom took his eyes to the front desk.

"To a higher authority." With that, the supervisor walked off, leaving the two of them to the role-players. Greg furrowed his brows dangerously.

"What's up with Gris? Why's he avoiding the hospital like the plague?"

"I don't know," Warrick admitted with a sigh. "It's just not like Grissom to ignore one of the team... I mean, especially _Catherine_..." They were silent for another moment, then they dove into the crowds like a shark into a school of wounded fish.

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AN: Okay, you may or may not have seen the D&D thing coming, but yeah. Sorry for the long wait, if I still have any readers out there. Enjoy!


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